


all you care about (is if the pretty cheerleader thinks you're cool)

by atlantisairlock



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Person of Interest (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author's Favorite, Drama & Romance, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Graduation, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Light Angst, POV Second Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah is the classic popular All-American head cheerleader dating the school's football captain. Amy is the drama kid just looking for somewhere - or someone - to call home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all you care about (is if the pretty cheerleader thinks you're cool)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charmed352](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed352/gifts).



> i was prompted to write a college!fic for amy & sarah, but this idea came to me on the plane and i couldn't let it go. hope you like it anyway!
> 
> idk how american classes work? here in singapore high schools/secondary schools you have a main class and for some subjects not everyone takes the students in question combine with students from other classes for the lesson so i'm gonna assume it works somewhat the same in the us. and eca/cca too, i'm just guessing and approximating based on my own experience idk. also our graduation and proms are on the same day? idk about usa. 
> 
> title from 'high school' by kelsea ballerini.

The first thing you learn is - nothing is permanent. 

It's not that life isn't comfortable, which it is. More than that, it's luxurious. You have everything you could ever want at your fingertips, and your parents indulge your every hobby, your every passing fad. You're provided for on a material level, and if you were on the outside looking in, you're pretty damn sure you'd be envious as hell. 

You suppose a lot of zeroes in your parents' salaries comes with the tradeoff of moving constantly. By the time you're a teenager, you've lived in practically every state for at least two weeks and switched schools so many times you've lost count of the number of new uniforms you've had to buy. It's a novelty up till the point you're eleven, because then you meet your best friend in your first year of middle school at Sig Rogich. For six months, both of you do everything together - ride your bikes to school, have cookies and milk while doing your homework in her bedroom, and she's your only guest at your birthday party. It's the first time you connect -  _really_ connect - with another human being outside of your family. 

She goes to Seoul for summer break and promises to bring souvenirs home for you. A day after she leaves, your dad announces that you're moving to the West Coast because of another workplace commitment. 

This is long before the time of social media, or even email, and you don't get a cellphone until you're in high school. You leave Nevada with no way of contacting her but for a hurriedly scribbled letter dropped into her mailbox with your new address, and you never see her again. 

After that, it gets old pretty fast.

 

 

It stops being fun and gets sad. It stops being sad and gets annoying. It stops being annoying and just makes you angry and resentful and jealous of people who get a proper home, who have time and space to become rooted, to call somewhere their own. You suppose it starts becoming evident to your parents, or perhaps they just start worrying about how all the moving is wreaking havoc on their kids' grades, because they finally come full circle to make a down payment on a house in Dallas and enrol you in Hillcrest and tell all of you:  _this is it. No more moving. This is going to be our home._

You try not to laugh. You stopped believing in that line a long, long time ago. 

 

 

Every high school is the same. East Coast, West Coast, well-reputed or not, small population or large. Regardless, there is always drama, there are always cliques, there's always a hierarchy - follow or be damned. You're not one for talking much, you're not all that pretty, and your greatest passion is theatre. It's not a combination that would propel you very high on the ladder. It doesn't faze you. You just intend on keeping your head down, graduating with straight As and going off to university to study something you really enjoy. You do it well. Nobody ever notices your arrival at your new schools, and by extension, nobody notices your departure either. It works out well for everyone. You never try and make friends - it hurts too much to leave, and you're not a fan of self-immolation. 

You're lonely.

But you'll live.

 

 

Before school reopens for your senior year, you spend a day orienting yourself around the campus - you figure it'll be a good idea to know where you're going and what you're doing so you don't look dazed and confused in the hallways on the first day, and by so doing attract the attention of everyone within a one-mile radius. You find your locker and your homeroom, and take a close look at the billboard displaying the Drama Club's past successes. 

You buy all your books and go shopping with your siblings for brand-new clothes and stationery, and on your first day, you're reasonably certain you're prepared for everything that could possibly come your way. 

 

 

You envision over a thousand scenarios in your head about your first day, like you always do, but - 

you never accounted for _her_. 

 

 

You spend ten minutes at your locker figuring out the best way to arrange your books, and amidst the chaos in the sea of students around you, someone walks up to the locker right next to yours and starts talking. "Looks like you got the haunted one."

You blink and look around. The girl pops her head around the frame of the locker door and smirks at you. "Yeah, you. Your locker," she continues, jabbing in the direction of your books sitting on the shelf. "Someone put their rabbit in there a couple years back - was intending to sell it off to someone - came back during lunch to find the poor creature stone dead from suffocation. You put food or wood products in there and leave them a while, they get chewed to bits. No explanation." 

She says all of this in a completely serious voice. You honestly cannot tell if she's joking. She's grinning at you, this wicked grin you'll learn to become familiar with, and in the face of that, you finally manage to reply. "You're messing with me."

"Dead serious. Like the rabbit." She laughs at her own wisecrack, then extends a hand. "Sarah Shahi, senior."

You take it. "Amy. Amy Acker. New kid." 

She's pretty. Her eyes are kind, and she practically radiates optimism and confidence. There's a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, unzipped, and you think you see a cheerleader's uniform in it. It figures. You can already paint a character profile of her - popular, lots of admirers, astounding grades, on the fast track to success. In other words, nothing like you, but exactly the kind of girl you like. 

Against your better judgment, you smile at her and initiate proper conversation. "You're a cheerleader?"

Sarah glances down into her bag and shoots you an impressed look. "Huh, you're an observant one, Acker. Yeah, I am. Varsity. Head cheerleader." 

You can't resist a soft laugh. Spot on. She's exactly what you'd expect her to be, but nicer. "You look the type."

She throws her stuff carelessly into her locker and shuts it, leaning against it and looking at you. "Do I? How about I make some hypotheses of my own," she suggests. "You look the shy type. Can't tell when somebody's flirting with you. Likes the humanities... would join the school newspaper. Am I right?"

"Three out of four. Not bad, Shahi. Could be better." 

Sarah grins good-naturedly at your response. "What, aren't you going to tell me which one I got wrong?" 

This is banter. This is lighthearted and friendly, and with a sudden sinking feeling in your chest, you realise that this is something you  _want._ Real friendship. Playful conversations with someone you could like, someone who could like you. For the first time, you feel a spark of hope. If your parents mean it, if this is going to be permanent, then this could be the beginning of something. 

So you force a grin onto your face. "A girl never reveals her secrets."

You're rewarded with her laughter, and the assurance that you've made a friend today.

 

 

Sarah isn't in your class, but when you walk into the lab for chem, you feel a little thrill to discover that she's taking it with you. She greets you with a little wave from where she's seated at the back of the room. 

You cross your fingers and wish really, really hard, and someone  _must_ be listening because your teacher rattles off the lab pairs for the year and calls her name in succession to yours. You can't help but turn to meet her gaze, and she sends a thumbs-up your way. The simple gesture gives you this oh-so-fuzzy feeling, warm and cozy. 

You're still thanking your lucky stars when all of you reshuffle and Sarah slides into the seat next to yours. "Hope you can do chem, partner, because I can bullshit one hell of a lab report but I can't do the real stuff to save my life."

You really, really like her already.

 

 

It's a pretty good first day, all things considered. Your teachers are okay. Your classmates are a little rowdy, but not awful. You're a good student, so the work for the term doesn't seem to be a problem. You've spoken to the chairperson of Drama, who's agreed to slot you in for an audition within the week. And it looks like you have a great lockermate and lab partner. You're in a good mood when you head to your locker at the end of the day to get your things.

This is quickly overturned when you get there and see Sarah shoved up against  _her_ locker, with some boy wearing a football jersey pinning her against it, and they're making out in the middle of the hallway. It feels like a stone drops into your stomach, lies there like a deadweight. 

Well. Okay. You should've known. It's part of the cliche, after all - hot, popular cheerleader dates the football captain. You don't know why it's bothering you so much. You should've known, right?

Sarah's glance suddenly slips to where you're standing. And you have to be imagining it - but is that relief you see in her expression? It's only the briefest flash, and then she's pushing the boy off her with an awkward frown. 

"Hey, what?" He begins, and you barge in before you can really think about it. "Am I interrupting something?" It's light, injected with deliberate humour, but far more high-pitched than usual. 

Said boy finally notices you're there, turns to affix you with a cold glare. Sarah, on the other hand, laughs - after this morning, it sounds incredibly false to you - and shakes her head. She turns to Football Jersey and prods him in the ribs. "Go for practice! I'll see you later." 

He seems vaguely mollified, nodding and leaning over to press another kiss against Sarah's mouth before loping off in the opposite direction. Once he's disappeared into the corridor, there's a moment of insurmountable silence that Sarah finally breaks. "Hey, Amy! How was your day?"

You flinch at the sham brightness in her tone. "Who was that?"

Her gaze hardens, and she looks away. It's another few seconds before she answers. "Steve. My boyfriend." It's terse, clipped, and you can tell she's had this conversation before. "I know what it looked like, but it's not like that, okay? He's just a little aggressive sometimes."

You don't bother telling her you've seen this in other schools over and over, that you know  _exactly_ what it is. You bite your tongue -  _girls like you deserve better than boys like that_ \- and nod. "Okay. But  _who_ is he, I mean?" 

It's almost imperceptible, but you see Sarah relax, the tension easing from her shoulders as she lets herself slouch a little. She's grateful that you're not pressing the point, you can tell. Her voice takes on the natural tone you remember from earlier. "He's the captain of the football team. I know, I know, that's _so_ cliche, right? We've been friends since we were kids. Our parents were always kind of setting us up to be together, I suppose. We've been dating since freshman year."

She says it like it's - nothing. Like it means nothing to her. 

You don't even bother asking:  _do you love him?_

The answer is easy enough to gauge. 

 

 

You don't bring up that first afternoon again, and the incident is quickly forgotten. The next time you see Steve, he's with Sarah, one arm around her shoulders. She introduces both of you properly, and he's all smiles and charm, shaking your hand and making small talk. 

But you've been in more high schools than people know, and you can see beneath the veneer. He doesn't like you. He's suspicious - he views you as a threat. More disturbingly, he views Sarah as a possession. A prize to be won. Something that can be stolen from him. 

It doesn't unnerve you - you've seen it before. But more than anything, you don't want to see Sarah get hurt.

 

 

You will look back, in years to come, and wonder how you were so oblivious. 

But for now, there is only well-intentioned action. 

 

 

The first week always passes far too slowly, like wading through molasses. After that it speeds up, and the days just rush by, and before long it's been a month. Your siblings are settling in well, and their work is improving. Your room is really beginning to feel like it's yours. You're making friends in your classes, but you're still closest to Sarah. Thankfully, her friendship hasn't wavered, and she seems to genuinely enjoy your company. The day doesn't begin until you've had your share of conversation at your lockers, and neither does it really end until you both part ways there with a hug goodbye. 

Your audition goes well, too. You're quickly accepted into the fold of the club, with like-minded students who love theatre and acting as much as you do. You learn that everyone's in the midst of preparing their entries for a statewide scriptwriting competition, and that preparations for the annual theatre production will only begin after Christmas. It's exciting. You talk to Sarah about it a lot, and she listens intently. 

"You know, I was never really interested in drama," she tells you one time when you're both walking home together on a surprisingly breezy day. "But you make it sound so cool. I mean, it's so nuanced, you know? And it really comes to life, unlike Lit, when it's all just words on paper." 

When she turns to you and asks when the annual play is, you think your heart grows three sizes. 

It becomes one of your driving motivations to get cast.

 

 

You've always been curious as to whether a year would seem to go by faster if you kept moving, or if you stayed still in one place. 

Turns out the answer is the latter.

Or maybe it's just the senior year syndrome. Maybe it's the reality of the fact that it's the  _last_ year, everyone's final year in a rigid system where you still have the excuse of youth and naivety to make mistakes, before getting thrust into the 'real world'. It's the unsettling realisation that people will be split apart and may never see one another  _ever_ again. The thought of the great big unknown out there that's simultaneously terrifying and inviting. It's the end, but it's all only just beginning. 

The days pass slow, but the months pass quick. You struggle through an increasingly difficult workload, pull all-nighters, and start getting used to the taste of Red Bull. Drama takes up a chunk of your time, too, and whenever you have precious free time, you mostly spend it sleeping or looking into universities. 

You find time, despite, to worry about Sarah. More accurately, about Sarah and Steve. He's never outright hurtful or anything, but it's evident that he doesn't really respect her as an equal. It puts your nerves on edge when you see them together, and you don't think anyone else notices - even Sarah herself - but she looks just a little less happy when he's with her. 

You try to make up for it. Whenever you're hanging out with her, you try your hardest to get her to let loose, laugh uproariously, enjoy herself. It makes your heart skip a beat whenever she smiles at you. 

One day you're both sitting in your bedroom at one in the morning, bent over your respective economics essays - there's a bottle of vodka she snuck into your house split evenly between the both of you, and you're both buzzed and exhausted, and out of nowhere she just leans into you and sighs. "You, Amy Acker, are my  _best_ fucking friend." 

And that - 

that makes you really happy. 

 

 

Your younger sister gets a boyfriend and begs to bring him over for Thanksgiving dinner. Your brother calls a foul when your parents relent and points to their refusal to let  _his_ girlfriend come over. Eventually they give up and allow all four of you to bring one guest each. 

You don't even need to think about it. You call Sarah up and invite her over - she happily agrees, and your parents even let her stay over for the night so both of you can study together. Your siblings make stupid kissy noises in your direction - Sarah flushes uncomfortably, and that stirs something in you, something you can't describe. You're about to go over there and yell at them, and you're only saved by your father's sharp rebuke and an apologetic shake of his head in Sarah's direction. 

The discomfort on her face doesn't disappear, though, and you both keep to yourselves that night. She leaves early in the morning. It confuses you, and you're down in the dumps for the rest of the holiday. 

You don't see each other until school reopens, but by then she's back to her normal self, joking and laughing. It's taken a week, but the knot in your stomach finally eases. 

You are happy in her presence, and she is happy in yours.

Nothing can change that.

 

 

The Drama Club exco comes together and decides to put up Circle Mirror Transformation as the annual play. The teachers in charge are brought in to judge the auditions. You're understandably nervous as hell when the time comes; one of your fellows walks out of the audition room looking pale and shaken. It's not a very reassuring sight.

Right before your name is called, when you're studying your copy of the script, your phone beeps. 

**_From : Sarah_ **

_all the best!!! you'll be an INCREDIBLE theresa xxxxxxx_

You know she's busy at cheer prac, and it warms your heart that she took the time out to text you.  _She remembered._

You go in there feeling a lot more at peace than you did before. 

 

 

It takes a week for the results to come out. It's a nerve-wracking seven days, mostly spent trying to distract yourself with work and chewing your fingernails down to the bed. Sarah keeps having to slap your hand away from your mouth, threatening to drink your share of whatever alcohol you're splitting between yourselves. She's far more confident in you than you are in yourself - 

\- so when you get to school in the morning and see the sheet of paper on the billboard, run your finger down the list of names - 

**_Theresa : Amy Acker_ **

\- the first thing that comes to mind is her. 

You  _think_ you might have thrown your hands up in the air in the most undignified manner and screamed. Maybe. All you remember is running to your locker, where you know she'll be. You don't even register that Steve's there, too - you just hurl yourself into her startled embrace, laughing breathlessly. "I got it! Sarah, I got the role! I'm Theresa! I got it!"

And nothing -  _nothing_ \- could possibly compare to the light in her eyes, that genuine smile that spreads across her face, that sheer delight and pride. "I  _knew_ it! I told you, I told you. Oh my god, Amy, I'm so proud of you!"

In that moment, nothing matters but her arms around you and the unadulterated joy you're feeling. 

Until Steve interrupts - of course. He puts one hand on your shoulder, as if in congratulations, but you can feel the slight tug, pulling you away from Sarah. You're both apart before you know it, and you see him smiling, and it's so forced and false you can feel your exhilaration suddenly ebb away. "Well, congrats on the... whatever that is. Sounds real cute. Good job." 

It sounds incredibly patronising, and even Sarah can tell. With a frown of displeasure she turns to face him. "Don't be like that. It's a great thing." 

He shrugs. "I mean, it's just a play, right?" 

You go still, because that _hurts,_  but you're also used to it, because you've heard it all before from so many different people and you've learned that it isn't always worth getting angry about it. It's _Sarah_ that gets mad. "What the hell? It's not 'just a play', Steve, it's important to her. It's important to me, too, because she's my _best friend_. It's a huge accomplishment for anyone who isn't established in the club to get a lead role in the major annual production. There's no need to be dismissive just because you can't appreciate theatre. Don't be such an asshole."

You're expecting him to get angry - to hit her, or something, and you're already moving forward without thinking to protect her if need be. Instead a lazy smile just appears on his face, and he pats her on the head. "Okay, babe, I got it." 

The condescension is almost too much for you to handle. You consider straight-up punching him, but before you can do so he kisses Sarah and leaves without waiting for a response. You watch him go, make sure he's out of sight, then look back at Sarah. She's shaking from anger, and you feel a responsibility to calm her down. "Hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not!" She snaps, then stops. She's silent, and it seems like she's trying to get the words out, before she finally deflates visibly and shakes her head. "Amy, you know I'm proud of you, right? For real."

 _Yeah,_ you want to say. Nobody else's opinion really matters. She's proud of you. What more could you want? 

 

 

So - you're Theresa. It's amazing, it's a rush, being up there on stage with your friends and getting into the swing of things, but rehearsals are a killer. You get home later and later every day, and you stay up most nights trying to finish up all your work. It's a happy kind of busy, but that doesn't stop you from being tired. 

Sarah's tired, too. There's a major cheerleading competition just around the corner and if you've been pulling your 100%, she's probably been doing double that. You've covered for her while she's caught some z's in chem lab more than once, and finished your reports for both of you. It's the least you can do. 

The end of the school year is coming up soon. You know it, and you can feel it in your bones. After this...

who knows?

It scares you, more than anything else, and you'd never admit it, but that's why you throw yourself so fully into your committments. You don't want to think about what's coming. There's no avoiding it, but there's compartmentalising it until you really have to consider it. 

More than anything, you know, you don't want to leave her.

 

 

Your family goes overseas when the school term lets out. When you return, it's straight back to school, and you're met with a buzz in the halls. Everyone's talking about something, and you know scandal and gossip when you see it. 

 _Did you hear?_ You manage to catch.  _Sarah and Steve broke up!_

Oh. 

And you won't hide it -

the first thing you feel is relief, satisfaction, hope. 

When you get to your locker, you keep your face neutral and blank. Sarah, on the other hand, looks at you with a bitterly ironic smile. "Hey Amy! Have you heard? Sarah and Steve broke up!" She singsongs in a parody of the whispers going around the school. "Scandalous, isn't it? The school's power couple are  _done?"_

"Sarah." You touch her shoulder. "What happened while I was away? Why didn't you tell me? Are you okay?" 

She blinks hard, moves away from your touch. "It's nothing. I just don't love him." She clears her throat. "Anymore. I don't love him anymore. It wouldn't have worked out. Whatever." 

She's lying. You  _know_ she's lying. That honestly hurts more than anything else.  _Don't you trust me?_ You want to say, but the words stick in your throat. She looks so upset you don't want to push, so you just swallow and step back. "Okay. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Just... don't talk about it, okay? I don't want to talk about it. Let's go to class." 

She leaves before you can agree, and all you can do is follow.

 

 

You don't have chem, and you don't see her in the corridors at all. She's not at her locker at the end of the day, either - 

but Steve is. He's just standing there, in the way, blocking your view of your locker. You stop short, feeling a shot of fear, looking at his imposing figure. What does he want?

"You happy now?" He bares his teeth at you, menacing, towers over you. "Are you happy now, stealing my girl from me?"

 _Sarah._ Even though you have no idea what Steve is talking about, the thought of her gives you strength. "She's not  _yours._ She's not a possession to be taken or given."

It's obviously the wrong thing to say - he slams his hand against your locker and the whole row shakes. "Who the hell do you think you are? She's been mine for three years. Three years! You've known her for, what, a couple of months? And she chose  _you_ over me?"

You can't breathe. You don't understand. "What?"

"I don't like you, Acker. Never did. Knew you were just some fucking dyke trying to put the moves on my girl, so I gave her an ultimatum. Stop seeing me, or stop seeing you. What do you know? She chose you. What kind of fucked-up shit is that?" He shakes his head. "I would beat the gay out of most people in this school, but Sarah's untouchable. So it looks like it's going to have to be you."

He's raising his fist and total and utter panic is rising up inside you and you don't know what to do or say and you've never been beaten up in your whole life ever and you're scared you're fucking  _scared_ and - 

out of  _nowhere_ Sarah is beside you and with one well-placed punch she's socked the lights out of your attacker. Steve goes down like a sack of bricks when her knuckles connect with his jaw. You can see the fury in her eyes and there's protectiveness in there too, and you exhale. It takes you a bit to realise you're trembling. Sarah gets in front of you, grasps your shoulders. "Amy. Amy, shit - are you okay?"

You manage to nod. She touches your face, and it's electric - it's like someone's scalded you with an iron. It's a weird moment - the halls are mostly empty and you can hear birdsong outside and the sun is setting and Steve is out cold on the ground and Sarah is standing in front of you looking at you in concern and suddenly, you're eleven years old again. Suddenly you're back in middle school, lying on the grass stargazing with your best friend, your maybe-first-love-before-you-knew-what-love-was, and for the first time you felt like you were home. 

_This is it._

_No more moving._

_This is going to be our home._

Everything finally makes sense, in relation to her. You think just perhaps everything has been leading up to this moment. All the moving. All the goodbyes. All the nights you spent in whatever bedroom you called your own for that short time wondering who you were and where you belonged. Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's coincidence.

Maybe it's her.

She chose you.

"You chose me," you say, and she stiffens. "He told you?"

The barest of nods. She looks away, hands dropping to her sides. "Amy, it doesn't - it isn't - it's not like that - "

Your heart seizes. "It's not?"

Her head snaps back up, and she stares at you. It's a long minute before she reaches for your hand, tentatively brushes the pads of your fingers together. "Do you want it to be?"

"Yes," you whisper, and after that there's no talking, there are no words. She kisses you, long and deep and slow in the hallway of your high school, and nothing is permanent, nothing is permanent, 

but you've finally found your way home. 

 

 

Because the gossip mill is what it is, the school population finds out by the next day. They take it way better than you expected they would. You get a lot of friendly fistbumps from people you only vaguely recognise from assemblies, pats on the back, and Sarah's entire varsity squad comes to shake your hand and get to know you better. Her mother takes it well, as do your parents - your brother sighs, rolls his eyes and presses dollar bills into your smug sisters' palms. Steve avoids both of you in the halls. You start your mornings and end your afternoons the same way you always have, only this time the conversations are punctuated with kisses, and you hold each other closer.

And that aside -

nothing really changes.

And you're beginning to understand that it's because you've loved her from the very start, and maybe she has, too. 

 

\---

 

_"I don't like her."_

_"She's my best friend. I'm not going to stop being her friend just because you don't like her."_

_"You spend all your time with her. What happened to it being about us? I don't care, Sarah. It's me or her. You have to pick one."_

_"... what?"_

_"I said, you have to pick one. Stop seeing her, or stop seeing me."_

 

 

_"Bye, Steve."_

 

\---

 

There are finals, there are SATs, there are college applications - in other words, the usual end-of-high-school chaos. The seniors panic, and the juniors feed on the panic as they see their future unfolding before them. The sophomores smirk and swagger confident in the safety of two more years, and the freshmen hide from the frenzy. You can't even relax once all your exams are done, because there's still the final rehearsals for Circle Mirror and  _everything_ is going wrong. At every rehearsal someone or another always quotes the anecdote about 'everything being all right on the night', and they're always inevitably met with groans and mutters of disgust. 

Sarah comes to help out a lot. She graciously goes out after cheer prac to buy dinner for the entire club when you all have to stay late, and even gamely helps to repaint one of the set pieces when it gets soaked through by the rain. 

You stage the play the night before graduation and prom. The hall is full to bursting, a welcome change from previous years according to your fellow members, and it's partly because Sarah used her influence and popularity to convince people to go - you could kiss her, and so say the other drama kids, to your amusement. You're sweating buckets before you go on stage, you're convinced you're going to bungle up and forget your lines or miss a cue or step wrongly or or or or -  

but then you see her in the front row when you get up there, and everything else just slips away. It's just you, and her, and the spotlight, and that huge smile on her face, the bouquet of flowers in her arms. 

You take a deep breath. 

Showtime. 

 

 

Your family meets you after the show, with Sarah in tow. There's the customary crying (your parents), squealing (your siblings), and a chaste kiss (Sarah). You accept flowers and compliments with good grace and then promise your mother you'll get home on time and pull Sarah along for the post-play pizza party that goes on until midnight. The both of you walk home together in comfortable silence, check in with your parents, and head to your bedroom to get some rest before your graduation ceremony in a few hours. 

You lie in bed in the darkness, Sarah's hand in yours, looking up at the ceiling for what seems like hours before she breaks the silence. 

"Amy?"

"Yeah?" 

"We're graduating. Like, really graduating. This is it." 

"Well, change is the only constant, right?" And you would know.

She turns over so she can look right at you, into your eyes. "It's going to be a big, crazy world we're leaping into, after this. We don't know what's going to happen.  _Anything_ could happen. Everything could change. And not necessarily for the better."

You squeeze her hand. "I know. It's scary." You sigh. "But I'm going to be with you every step of the way, okay? I promise. No matter where life takes us. You are my home, Sarah." She knows, of course, what you mean - the real significance of that word for you, how your past and your childhood has shaped its meaning. "You are my home."

She smiles, pulls you closer, and you know she's right.

Nothing is permanent. Everything is going to change.

But you will always have this - this year, this night, this love. 

And it will be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> THE IRON REFERENCE WAS SO DELIBERATE IM JUST GONNA SAY RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW.
> 
> disclaimer:
> 
> i don't own person of interest or cbs or warner, etc. i don't know any of the cast personally. i don't profit from this fic; it's just for fun. this fic isn't meant to be in character or to represent anything happening in real life or whatever. no insinuations or disrespect meant towards any of the cast or their families or their respective spouses et al - ESPECIALLY STEVE, i love steve and i love sarah/steve they are so cute, i just used him in this fic for the plot and everything?? probably really incorrect wrt all the america bits bc i don't live in america. aka everything i've written in this fic is FICTIONAL. for ENJOYMENT.
> 
> please for the love of god DON'T come to the comments section going off about how rpf is Disrespectful and Gross and Wrong and Weird - which seems to be a trend on shacker fics - unless you intend to comment the exact same thing on every single phan and one direction and hockey fic that exists on this site as well. it's just annoying.


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